They walked in silence. The comtesse always felt Madame Valade to be not of her class, of course. “Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. Do you mind talking to some one else. Rather! Who could help it?” He towered up over her and smiled down at her in his fatherly way. “He says you are frigid, Madame. Don’t say anything, she thought to herself, say nothing more, Martin.
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